


A Reason To Celebrate

by lilgulie5



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilgulie5/pseuds/lilgulie5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene between Rollo and Gisla we were all hoping to see at some point in 4x08. This picks up directly after the events of the deleted scene from 4x07. Rollo is insistent that as long as his brother remains alive there is nothing to celebrate. Gisla thinks otherwise. A potential muti-chapter story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to my first Vikings fic featuring Rollo and Gisla. This story picks up right where the deleted Rolisla scene from 4x07 left off and takes a closer look at their private life. I’m open to turning this into a multi-chapter story because I feel like there are many aspects of their relationship that can be explored. Please read and review if you feel so inclined. Thanks! -Katie

 

The day was over, the battle was won and although it would not be the last, her husband lived. Rollo’s plan had been a success. The Northmen had been thwarted and retreated back down river. Paris was safe, for now, and Gisla could thank the Almighty God for that. Count Odo was wrong. They could not let their guard down. They could not celebrate just yet, for as long as Ragnar lived he would not cease to attempt to breach the Frankish defenses. For now, Rollo had kept the Northmen out of Paris. A born leader, he saw to the needs of his men before he would even consider attending an audience with the Emperor and then Odo had the audacity to criticize her husband’s tactics. That was something Gisla would not stand for, nor would she stand idly by while the Count accused Rollo of not being fully committed to their cause. In her eyes there was no one more committed to the defense of Paris than her husband. He had the most to lose; he took the greatest risk; he stood against his own brother in accordance with his, no, their destiny. She knew he was in no mood for a feast or festivities. Already, she could see the wheels in his head turning about how to plan their next move. Gently, she began to coax him away from the hall. 

“You haven’t eaten anything all day,” Gisla said plainly. And you look tired, she could have added, but chose not to. Her own body ached with fatigue but she did not let such trivial matters trouble her. “I can have food brought up to us.” 

“You don’t want to stay for Odo’s feast?” Rollo asked, placing his hand over hers. His tone was half teasing and half filled with contempt. 

“No,” she shook her head and lowered her voice. “I want to forget about Odo. Today, you were the victor and I know that God will continue to bless our cause.” 

Those words seemed enough to convince him to follow along behind her up to their chambers although she wondered if he doubted the role God played in all of it. Gisla dismissed the thought. Her husband had been baptized and whether he realized it or not God was using him for His divine plan and that included the defeat of the Northmen. She realized it and believed in it. Surely that would be enough for now. After all, even Thomas, one of the Twelve Apostles, needed to see the risen Lord in the flesh to truly believe.

Finally away from the hall. Gisla slowed her pace, allowing for Rollo to fall into step with her, and linked her arm around his. As they passed the kitchen she ducked her head to hide a smile, remembering their previous exploits there and how her father could barely look her in the eye for days afterwards. At times, her own brazenness still continued to surprise her just as much as it seemed to delight her husband. When they’d reached their chambers Gisla instructed the servants to bring them food later on and then dismissed them, turning her attention back to her husband. 

“I’m sorry,” Rollo said once they were alone. 

“Sorry? What for?” she asked. 

“For not being able to claim a decisive victory yet.” 

“You’ve won the battle for today and I’m sure you will bring us absolute victory in time. You’ve defended Paris.” 

“My brother will return.” 

“And when he does we will be ready for him. For now, we wait.” 

Rollo nodded and waited a for moments, weighing whether or not to bring up a matter that had recently been plaguing his mind. “I know not why,” he began cautiously. “But I feel uneasy about Count Odo.” 

“He doesn’t take well to contradictions,” Gisla scoffed and began to pour wine into the goblets on the table, offering one to Rollo. “And you did just that in front of the whole court.” 

“Perhaps I should not have done so.” 

“On the contrary. I wish you would do it again.” 

“Why?” 

“Odo is the Count of Paris and is charged with defending the whole realm. He has immense power.” 

“You think he has too much power.” 

Rollo knew the answer before it even had a chance to leave Gisla’s lips. He had known for some time now how she truly felt about the man. When he learned that Odo made advances on the princess before they were wed he understood from whence her dislike stemmed. She was shrewd enough to see him for what he truly was and what he could potentially become. 

“I know he has too much power because my father is weak. As my husband you should be the man the Emperor turns to. I don’t trust Odo.” 

“And he does not trust me. Yes, he went along with my plan, but for how long will that continue? I know he’s waiting for the day I will betray him, the Emperor, and you, and return to my brother.” 

“But you would not do that.” The words came out as more a question than she would have liked. 

“You are my wife,” he said in his native tongue and she smiled, remembering how he spoke those same words to her on their wedding night although she had not known their meaning at the time. “You are my heart. I could never betray you. I’ve told you before, you are my destiny.” 

Gisla took the cup from his hand and set it down on the table next to hers. Without saying a word she led him to their bed and prompted him to sit on the edge. His great height made him eye level with her and a smile played on her lips as she took his hands into hers. His hands were large, coarse, and powerful. They were hands that could build and hands that could kill and yet they were always so gentle with her. Leaning forward, Gisla rested her forehead against Rollo’s. 

“I never doubted you,” she whispered and pressed her lips against his. “I love you.” 

Her words acted like an elixir and when she uttered them it was as if all of Rollo’s fatigue eroded away. He pulled her body against his and deepened the kiss, drinking her in, wanting to taste every inch of her. She tasted of wine still and smelled of the expensive perfume she sprinkled in her hair. If she hadn’t been by his side earlier he would have never known she had been with him in battle that day. 

His beard tickled her chin and nose. The feeling seemed so odd when they first consummated their marriage and now it was just another part of him. He had not changed when they returned to the castle, choosing instead to see to their soldiers who had been wounded. The scent of fresh air, horses, and firewood clung to his hair as she pushed it away from his face. Reaching between their bodies, Gisla began to make quick work of the fastenings on her husband’s surcoat, pushing it from his shoulders and greedily ridding him of the shirt beneath it as well. Her palms ghosted over the planes of his scarred, tattooed, and battle hardened torso and chest, eliciting a groan from Rollo’s lips. Before she even had a moment to think, she was spun around and his practiced fingers were already unlacing the stays of her dress, pushing it down her shoulders and body until it pooled at her feet on the floor. In one motion she felt herself being lifted up and placed back down on the bed as he hovered over her. His green eyes stared into her own and she reached up to trace a finger across the scar over his right eye. 

“You’re not going to pull a knife on my again, are you?” Rollo gently teased as he kissed his way down her neck. 

“How many times will you bring that up,” Gisla asked with an exaggerated sigh as she began to push his pants down his long legs, reaching between them to stroke his length. 

“At least once more,” he smiled and rested his forehead against hers again as he joined their lips and bodies together in unison. 

They moved together, a tangle of limbs, lust, and love, both of them grateful they had lived to see another day together. Gisla arched her back off the bed, pressing her hips against Rollo’s and silently wondered, not for the first time, how she had ever been repulsed by her husband. In truth, she had felt drawn to him from the very first moment she laid eyes on him as he climbed the walls with the rest of the Northmen. She should have been able to look away, should have felt an immediate and intense hatred for him and yet in that moment she could not. For days she found herself wondering what had become of him after he plunged into the water. It was not until her father informed her that he had offered her to him as part of a cheap bargain that she began to resent him- resent not being able offer her opinion on the matter. Her disdain for being a pawn in a political game of chess grew. She rebuffed herself for ever feeling anything but hatred for the barbaric man who would be her husband. Her father had been a fool, for surely the Crazy Bear would treat her as little more than a piece of property or a trophy on a shelf. She vowed to make herself an impenetrable wall, even if it meant foiling the fragile alliance. Surely, at some point Rollo would snap and everyone would see how maniacal he was. 

And yet he did not. In spite of her ill-treatment and scorn of him in public he never treated her with anything but respect and perhaps, even kindness. No one had been more shocked than she when he revealed that he learned their language. The gossips at court would whisper for days afterwards that Gisla had given up her maidenhead at the utterance of a few words of Frankish, but it was so much more than that. No one would know except for the two of them how he pledged himself to her yet again, inciting destiny. No one would know how he removed his arm ring and offered it to her as a sign of his devotion, and no one would realize that for the first time in this whole ordeal someone was offering her a choice. Rollo had stood before her, had confessed his love and yet still gave her the choice to rebuff him once again. It was then Gisla realized that before her stood a man who would regard her as an equal, who would love her, and who she could love in return. 

Nipping at her pulse point and soothing it with his tongue, Rollo could feel the heartbeat and warmth beneath her skin. She wrapped herself around him tighter, her heels digging into his back when they had once been languidly brushing his calves, a telltale sign that she was already nearing her release. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and slowed his pace, smirking ever so slightly as she whimpered beneath him. If someone had told him on his wedding night that he would be able to elicit such sounds from the Princess of Frankia he would have laughed outright. If only the Seer had told him just how much he would have to endure in order to achieve his hard won happiness he might have been more prepared from the beginning. He knew his wife was a strong woman, after all it was Gisla who stood on the rampart next to the oriflamme to encourage the Frankish soldiers. He admired her spirit on their wedding night. At another time in his life he was certain he would have forced himself upon her, seeking only to take his own pleasure at any cost, but even Rollo knew that he would have to play by a different set of rules. They were married. He could bide his time. Despite everything he found himself longing to see her even if it meant he was on the receiving end of her public ridicule. In a final attempt to save his marriage he learned her language and pleaded with her in front of the Papal envoy not to carry on with the divorce. He had literally placed his life, his happiness, and his future into her hands and against all hope she had accepted it- had finally accepted him. 

As Rollo pulled back slightly, Gisla’s eyes opened and she gazed up at him, almost pleading him to give them what they both desired. When her moment of ecstasy came she cried out until he covered her mouth with his own. Rollo dropped his head to her shoulder when he came moments later, his entire body spent. When they’d both regained their composure he pulled away from her, settling himself on his back and drawing her against him, wrapping his arms around her. They lay in silence for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Lifting her head from his chest, Gisla glanced up at him to find him barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“You were wrong,” she said simply and laid her head back down on his chest, waiting for his reply. 

“Hmmm?” 

“When you said there is nothing to celebrate. You were wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

Gisla took one of his arms that was wrapped around and held his hand in her own, moving it down her body until it came to rest on the barely noticeable swell of her stomach. 

“Rollo, I wanted to wait until the right moment, until we were alone, to tell you. I...I’m with child.” 

“You are...I am... going to be,” he stopped and shook his head, suddenly lost for words. He closed his eyes against the sting of what he thought might be tears as a flood of emotions coursed through him. 

“You, my love, are going to be a father,” Gisla whispered and felt her husband’s hand move across her skin as if trying to sense the life within. “Are you happy?” 

“That word is not enough. This is more than happiness.” 

Rollo turned so he was facing his wife and kissed her lips, her cheeks and forehead, laughing to himself as he gathered Gisla into his arms. If I could, he mused to himself. I would dance naked on the beach right now. His wife, his Gisla, was giving him a child and that was far greater than any victory he claimed upon the waters that day. A child, the symbol of their love to carry on their legacy was more important to him than the past he faced in battle earlier that day. In that moment, Rollo was struck by a thought.

“How long have you known?” he asked seriously. 

“A few weeks,” Gisla replied. “It was early yet and I wanted to be sure before I tol-” 

“You knew you were with child and yet you came to the battle?” 

“Yes, but I had to. I needed to bring the oriflamme.” 

“Someone else could have done that, Gisla.” 

“I was perfectly safe,” she tried to reason. “No harm came to us.” 

“But suppose things had gone differently.” 

“I knew they would not.” 

“How?” Rollo asked. 

“How did I know? Because I knew your plan would work. I knew you would protect me just as you protect Paris and I knew that we have God on our side.” 

“I do not mean to reprimand you or to spoil this moment and I’m grateful for the trust you place in me, but I could not live with myself if something happened to you.” 

“But I am-” 

“You are fearless,” Rollo finished for his wife. “I know this. I love you for this. But from this moment on promise me you will be fearless from inside the palace. The thought of losing you...of losing both of you is unbearable.” 

Gisla regarded the sincerity on her husband’s face and in his voice. He was a man who had lost and gained much in his life. He was willing to lay down his life for a land that was not even his own. He loved her despite her many faults and he was right, she should put the safety of their child above all else including her desire to be near the heart of a battle. 

“I promise you I will stay safe,” she said solemnly. “When your brother returns I will spend day and night on my knees praying to our Blessed Mother that she beseech her Son to continue to side with us in victory.” 

“Thank you,” Rollo smiled, kissing her softly. “When I defeat my brother and drive the Northmen from Frankia you and I will go to our Northern lands and establish our court and there we will raise our children.” 

“Children?” Gisla laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “One at a time, my love. One at a time.”


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 2! This chapter takes place mostly within the parameters of episode 4x08 “Portage”. Now that we’ve hit the middle of the season and the time jump has already occurred I have a clearer picture of where I’d like this story to go. Thanks for reading chapter 1 and thank you for your patience. Chapter 2 is a bit longer and I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review if you feel so inclined! Special thanks to Rachel helping me proofread this and to princessgiselaa for letting me bounce some ideas off of her! -Kaite

 

The first rays of morning light were just filtering through the bedchamber windows when Gisla began to stir. Beside her, Rollo snored quietly, still oblivious to the intruding sunlight. Good, she thought. He needs the rest. In the days following the retreat of the Northmen back up the river her husband had been working tirelessly with Count Odo in order to ready themselves for the next potential attack. While the young duke believed his brother could strike again at any moment, the Count of Paris thought that each passing day was surely a sign that another attack might never come.

Carefully extracting herself from under Rollo’s arm, Gisla slid to the edge of their bed and pushed the covers away. The stone floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she covered her shift with a robe and padded across the chamber to her prie-dieu. Kneeling down, she crossed herself and began to silently pray.

“O Lord, you shall open my lips and my mouth shall praise your name. I call on you with all my heart- answer me, Lord. I will obey your laws. I call on you- save me so that I can keep your decrees. At first light I cry to you, I put all my hope in your word. In the night I keep watch, I ponder your sayings. In your mercy, Lord, hear my voice, in your justice, give me life. My persecutors come to do me harm: they are far from your law.”

She heard the rustling of the bed linens, but continued with with her prayers.

“But you, Lord, are near to me, and you are trustworthy in all your precepts. From the beginning I have known your decrees, how you have made them to last forever.”

“Gisla?” Rollo’s sleep-laden voice broke through the silence of the room. “Come back to bed.”

“Just a moment,” she called back to him and returned to her prayer.

“Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life. Alleluia.”

Gisla crossed herself again and rose from the the prie-dieu, making her way back over to the bed. Climbing back under the covers she shifted over towards her husband, propping herself up on her elbow and looking down at him.

“I was praying,” she explained.

“Too early for that,” Rollo mumbled and lazily played with the ties on her nightgown. “Your ladies are not even about yet.”

“It’s never too early or too late to pray.”

Rollo nodded and thought about what Gisla said. He knew when she prayed. He knew what she looked like when she was praying, but he still had many questions.

“What do you pray for?” he asked.

“Many things. I pray to give thanks that God has kept us safe throughout the night. I pray for our child and I pray for my husband.”

“For Me?” Rollo asked, surprize etched across his face.

“Of course,” she replied leaning down to kiss him.

“How...do you pray?” he asked.

“You don’t know how to pray?” she replied incredulously.

“You know why I was baptized. I did not lead a Christian life until I came to Paris. I never wished to.”

“And do you wish to now?”

“I want to understand,” Rollo clarified and pushed himself up so he was sitting. Reaching out he tucked a stray lock of hair behind Gisla's ear. “I want to understand what it is that makes my wife wake up early and say prayers late into the night.”

“Did you never pray to your pagan gods?” she wondered aloud.

“Yes. We prayed to the gods for many things.”

“Good, then you will see it is not so different. Anything you prayed to your old gods about, you should pray to the one true God about.”

“You know I cannot understand Latin,” Rollo pointed out.

“In your own private devotions it is not necessary.”

“Then you will teach me one of your prayers. Teach me one for victory in battle.”

“I will,” Gisla nodded, an odd sense of pride welling up inside her. “I just have to find the right one. Let me fetch my prayer book and -.”

“Not right now,” Rollo laughed, catching her by the wrist before she could make it off the bed. “There is time enough for that later.”

“When?”

“I don’t know,” he said, gathering his wife into his arms. “Now we still have time to sleep more.”

“And what if I’m not tired anymore?”

“I’m still tired,” Rollo grumbled and tightened his hold around Gisla. “So you need to stay.”

“Why must I stay?” she asked, though she made no attempt to untangle herself from his arms.

“Because.”

“Because why?” she prodded, poking him in the side.

“Because I sleep better with you beside me.”

Gisla lifted her head from Rollo’s shoulder and smiled up at his drowsy face. He had a habit, this husband of hers, of saying something so simply, yet so truthfully. In that moment she knew she was blessed. Shifting slightly, her lips found his for a chaste kiss. “Then beside you I shall stay.”

XXXXX

Rollo walked down the dimly lit corridor that led back to the chambers he shared with Gisla. After they rose and broke fast together he left her to oversee the shipbuilding progress down at the the river. The boats were coming along well and were almost entirely equipped to go nose-to-nose with the longboats of his brother’s fleet. While he waited for Count Odo he sent some of his men up river in an attempt to ascertain the exact location of the Viking fleet. When the Count appeared nearly half of an hour late with Roland in tow he did not offer an explanation as to where he had been. Rollo chose not to ask for one. He did, however, decide to keep the occurrence tucked away in the back of his mind.

Arriving at the door to the chamber, Rollo found Gisla’s back to him as she held different pieces of fabric up in the air, seemingly testing them against the light. In a few strides he stood behind her, arms wrapped around her midsection and chin resting on her shoulder. Without a word he pushed the hair away from her neck and placed a kiss just below her ear. He felt her lean back and relax into his touch as a swatch of fabric billowed onto the table.

“I hope you weren’t trying to scare me,” she said.

“No, I just didn’t want to disturb you. What is all of this?”

“Just some samples of fabric for new dresses. It seems I will be in need of them sooner, rather than later.”

“Really?” Rollo whispered into her ear, splaying his hand against the small curve of her belly. In some of the gowns she wore it was scarcely noticeable, but Rollo could tell. “And why would that be?”  
“You know why,” Gisla replied and turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Your child is growing faster than I could have imagined. I’m sure he’s already strong like his father.”

“Or like his mother,” he offered and kissed her quickly.

“You flatter me, my love.”

“I speak the truth.”

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” Gisla noted, pulling away from Rollo and separating the fabric into piles. “How are the preparations progressing?”

“They are going well. You should see the ships.”

“I would like to. Perhaps I will go down with you tomorrow.”

“It would encourage the men to see you. They still hold you in high regard after the previous sieges. They do not just fight for Paris or for the Emperor. They fight for you, too.”

“Would that I could join with you and then in battle again. Who will take the Oriflamme?”

“There will be someone to bear it,” Rollo assured her. “Better that you are kept safe.”

“I wish I could be there with you, fighting beside you. Fighting for Frankia,” Gisla said wistfully.

“I know. You have the heart of a shield maiden.”

“If I was not with child would you let me join you?”

“Let you? Would my opinion stop you?”

“It depends, I suppose.”

“It is hard to say. This will be different than it was before. On a ship there is no safe place like a battlement. And yet…” Rollo trailed off.

“And yet what?”

“It is nothing.”

“It must be something,” Gisla insisted, settling into a chair and looking at him pointedly.

“I was only going to say that I worry about leaving you here. About leaving you behind.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot protect you,” Rollo sighed.

“But you will be protecting me. You will be defending Paris.”

“Anything could happen and I would never forgive myself.”

“Why would you think anything would happen to me?”

“Because something has happened before.”

“I don’t understand,” Gisla said, shaking her head.

Rollo looked at her for a long moment, weighing the choice of telling her about his past, his former self, or leaving her in the dark and brushing it off. The latter option was certainly more appealing. Opening up the door to the past would bring with it a wave of pain, not just for himself, but potentially for Gisla was well. It was with an air of reluctance that he pulled a chair across the stone floor and at in front of her.

“You know there are many things I have done in my life that I am not proud of,” he began.

“Yes, you’ve told me about your past in Kattegat…”

“But there are parts of my life you don’t know about. Parts that I’ve tried to push away and keep them locked in the past.”

“Then why don’t you leave them there?” Gisla asked, her words certainly enticing. “This is your new life. It is the only one that matters now.”

“I tell you this because some things that happened in that life are still with me now. This is one such instance. I need to tell you this so you will understand my concern. For a long time I lived with a woman in Kattegat. Her name was Siggy. She was the wife of the man what had been earl before my brother. When he died we took up living together.

“You were married to her?”

“I...no. We never married.”

“But you knew her?”

“Of course I knew her,” Rollo answered, furrowing his brow. “Why would I live with someone I didn’t know?”

“No,” Gisla sighed and tried to think of the right words. It made her uncomfortable to think of her husband’s relations with another woman. “I mean...you slept with her?”

“Yes.”

Gisla was quiet for a moment, mulling over the many questions swimming in her mind. In the end, she chose the simplest one. “What happened to her?”

“We were away on a raid in Mercia and when we returned everyone came to greet us and tend to our wounded, but Siggy was nowhere to be found My brother’s wife came and told me she was dead, drowned in a frozen lake after she saved two of my nephews from drowning. They never even found her body.”

Rollo looked away as old wounds were ripped open and raw emotions began to rise to the surface. It had been a long time since he thought about Siggy and as anything more than a passing memory and even long since he had spoken of her to anyone. Fresh waves of guilt flooded over him when he thought that she might have died without knowing he truly did care for her. So lost to his memories was he that he did not even notice Gisla reaching forward to take his hand until he felt the warmth of her touch upon him. He braced himself for an admonition from his wife. After all he had just revealed to he had had no doubt that he was rightly deserving of one and yet, none came.

“It was not your fault,” Gisla offered quietly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But there are things I could have done. Things I could have said.”

“Perhaps, but you cannot change the past now. Nothing will happen to me because of something you did or did not do, whether it was one or one hundred years ago. I am not going to drown in the river. I won’t even be near it. You’ve said so yourself.”

“No, you won’t be. But Siggy died doing what she thought was right. She died trying to help someone and that is something you would do. Promise me...promise me that should anything happen and the walls are breached that you will put your safety and our child’s safety above all else.”

“I promise,” Gisla solemnly agreed.

“Good,” Rollo noded and brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. “You know, in a strange way, her death led me to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“After she died my life became more and more...destructive. It seemed meaningless. I did not care if I lived or died. I was so full of loathing for myself, for my brother, for everything around me. My whole life everyone chose Ragnar over me. Everyone.”

Gisla frowned. It was not always easy for her to listen about how Rollo was treated by those who should have been closest to him.

“I did not see the point of living in his shadow any longer. I did not see the point of living at all. I felt useless, hollowed out by all of my failed ambitions. I did not think anything good could ever come from my life. There is a man in our village, a wise man, called the Seer. It is believed that he can see into the future, that he is a sort of prophet and an instrument of our gods. I told him all of the this and he laughed at me outright. He told me if I truly knew what the gods had in store for me that I would dance naked on the beach.”

A smile played on Gisla’s lips at the thought of her husband doing such a thing and yet it was not entirely difficult to imagine.

“Then he told me that the bear would marry the princess and that I would be present at the ceremony. I had no idea what he meant until I saw you on the battlements on the day we raided Paris. Without even knowing who you were I knew you were my destiny.”

“You based your future with me, our marriage, on the words of some pagan prophet?” Gisla asked, troubled by his words as she pulled her hand away from her husband.

“At the time, yes. I did.” Rollo knew she would not have accepted the idea that their marriage was preordained by the gods. He had expected this reaction and had tried to develop a way of making his story easier to bear. “Gisla, please do not be angry with me. What was I to do? We had no one else I could seek counsel from. Abbot Lupus tells me that God is in everything, that he works through everything. Is it not possible then that he used the Seer as his messenger to me because it served some greater purpose? A purpose that would eventually unite and bring us together?”

Gisla stared blankly at her husband, wondering if he fully grasped the profound theological statement he had made She had not realize that he discussed such matters with the man who taught him their language. He was right, of course, and yet it did not necessarily make his story easier to accept. He had loved another before her and although he didn’t say as much she knew that he must have loved this woman a great deal if her death led to such harmful behavior. She was not naive. She knew how experienced he must have been when the married, but most of the time it was easy for Gisla to push away all notions of her husband’s past life.

Over the years she had received and rejected countless offers of marriage. None of those men loved her, they merely wanted to possess her, to access the power a marriage to her would afford them. She had come to think of it as providential that when the situation and decision were no longer in her control she had been married to a man who loved her. God had laid a hand and now their union bore the fruits of their love.

“Why do you love me?” she suddenly questioned, breaking her silence. “Do you love me because you think it is something you must do? Something you were destined to do?”

“No,” Rollo replied, shaking his head with a small smile. “That is why I married you, but it is not why I love you. I love you because you make me want to be better, to try harder, to challenge myself. I have never felt that way with anyone else before. I want to be worthy of you.”

“You already are,” Gisla said. She rose from her chair and closed the distance between them. Standing in front of Rollo she took his face in her hand and tilted it back so that he was looking up at her. “And I love you.”

“Why?” he asked, turning her own question back to her. Gisla smiled and pushed his hair away from his face.

“Do we have time for me to list all of the reasons before we must sup with my father?”

“Time enough. I want to know, because I know that it was not so from the first time you saw me.”

“No,” she laughed a little. “Perhaps not. Perhaps you frightened me, but from the very first night you...respected me. After that, no matter how poorly I treated you that did not change. It made me rethink things. When you learned our language I was impressed. That was the day everything changed for me. When the Papal envoy arrived I thought it would be the last day I would ever see you, but then you spoke of destiny.”

Nodding, Rollo thought of the day he implored Gisla to reconsider her decision to annul their marriage.

“You had learned our language, but it wasn’t either of those things that affected me so much. When you took off your arm ring you weren’t just giving me a piece of metal, you were giving me a choice, a choice that no one else had ever given me. You laid your heart out before me and it was at that moment that I knew. I looked back upon our marriage through different eyes and could only see every effort you made, every humiliation you endured, mostly because of me. I did not choose to marry you, Rollo, but I chose to love you. I still choose to love you every day.”

Rollo pushed himself out of his chair and wrapped one arm around Gisla’s waist while using his free hand to cup her cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, and finally her lips. When she laid her hands on his arms and sighed into the kiss he wished that they could shirk their duties for the afternoon and forego the meal with her father. All too soon, Gisla pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes dark and her lips slightly parted.

“You cannot look at me like that,” Rollo practically groaned.

“Why not?” she teased, leaning close to his ear.

“Because if you do we will keep your father waiting”

“We cannot keep the Emperor of Frankia waiting.”

“Will Count Odo be joining us?” Rollo asked, taking one of the braids which framed Gisla’s face between his fingers. She had been wearing the style as of late and it suited her.

“No, thankfully he will not. We will be alone with my father.”

“A rare occurrence to be sure.”

“Indeed. I was thinking...if the opportunity arises I would tell him I am with child.”

“If you wish,” Rollo agreed. “Why would you delay?”

“I don’t know,” Gisla shrugged. “I just feel that it is something which makes me vulnerable. What’s more, it further solidifies your position here at court and as Duke of Normandy. You have an heir on the way already. Anyone who would be jealous of you, anyone who would have designs on your dukedom could see it as a threat.”

“Do whatever you think is best,” her husband conceded, tracing a finger over the front of her gown. “Although I think it will become apparent sooner rather than later.”

XXXXX

The Emperor was quiet as the servant brought the food to the table and Gisla noted that it was not an altogether pleasant silence. She knew by the expression on his face that he was contemplating something in his mind as if waiting for the right opportunity to bring it into conversation. Rollo, for his part, seemed not to notice that anything was amiss. He could be so oblivious at times, Gisla thought as she observed her husband cutting into his meal. There were times when she worried about him. He had an honest and straightforward approach to any situation. Although he had adopted the style of dress and was learning the manners of his new home, he still possessed the logic of a Northman. In truth, it was something she admired about him. He lacked the guile and duplicitous attributes of the Franks, but she often lovingly teased him that he was too simple by nature. Though Gisla preferred Rollo not to be as insidious as she suspected Count Odo of being, she believe it to be her duty to ensure that he was well aware of and well equipped to deal with any and all potentially dangerous political matters.

“Your Grace,” the Emperor said at length. “I wish to commend you for everything you’ve done for me and for Paris.”

“And for me,” Gisla added, eyeing her husband with a secretive smile.

“I gave you my word,” Rollo nearly shrugged. “And I kept it.”

“Then I drink to you, and salute you, and thank God for you.”

“Amen!” Gisla concluded, raising her glass in unison with her father.

“The defeat of Ragnar Lothbrook will resound on the ages.”

“What defeat?” Rollo questioned and in the blink of an eye all hints of mirth left the room. “As long as my brother is alive, he is not defeated.”

“He has retreated,” Charles attempted to reason. “His chance to attack again has diminished.”

Gisla stopped fiddling with her utensils to study her father. Mere weeks ago, after the initial attack, he had agreed with Rollo that they should remain vigilant. Now, he seemed to echo Odo’s sentiments. Something has changed, she thought as her gaze flickered across the table. She paid little attention to the rest of what the Emperor had to say as she watched Rollo already preparing to make his rebuttal, exasperation clear on his face.

“You talk as if you no longer need me to protect you,” he said, tearing his eyes from her and shifting them towards the man at the head of the table.

“I do not wish to give you that impression,” Charles insisted, taken aback by his son-in-law’s accusation.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, the tension between the was palpable and unnecessary. After all, they were on the same side. They shared a common goal and that was the safety and defense of Paris. Whatever notion had entered Charles’s mind that they were safer with every passing day was misguided and Rollo was trying to make that clear to him. Gisla decided that it was time to remind her father of this; that it was time to reveal the news which would hopefully lift the temporary cloud that had fallen over them.

“You should also know that I’m carrying Rollo’s child,” she said plainly, awaiting the Emperor’s reaction. For a moment he seemed to look at her in disbelief, unable to grasp the words she had just uttered. It was nearly impossible to interpret how he felt about his daughter’s news.

“How strange life is,” Charles replied, his cryptic response doing no more to assuage Gisla’s consternation than his silence. His attention returned to Rollo and then, after a few beats, a smile pulled at the corners of his lips and his daughter finally felt as though she could breathe once more. “So let me drink to the first child of our Frankish- Viking alliance. Long may it continue.”

The trio reached for their glasses and raised them into the air in a toast to the new life within Gisla’s womb and she believed that Charles was truly pleased with the news.

“Saloue,” Rollo added, grinning warmly across the table at his wife.

“What a blessing it is to have such news in a time of strife,” Charles said. “Now it seems the safety of Paris from within and without is of even greater importance.”

“Rollo said the boats are nearly complete,” Gisla offered. “Our forces will be able to meet their before they even reach the city walls.”

“Very good. I am assured by your efforts, your grace. And now let us enjoy the rest of our meal. There is enough time to discuss other matters later.”

XXXXX

“Your father seemed enthused by our news,” Rollo said as he watched Gisla’s women help her into a different gown.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Although I think it surprised him.”

“Why should it? Is that not the point of forming an alliance?”

 “That is a mystery.”

“As is his calling this audience now.”

“Something has happened,” Gisla said, stepping out from behind the dressing screen. “It must have or he wouldn’t have called for the whole court.”

“Is that why you had to put on a different dress?”

 “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Rollo nodded approvingly and ran his finger along the v-shaped neckline. “Especially this part.”

“You are incorrigible,” Gisla laughed, swatting at his hand.

“Can a man not admire his wife?”

“Perhaps later. We shouldn’t be late.”

The court had already begun to assemble when they arrived and made their way to the front of the hall to await the Emperor. Upon a first glance around the room it seemed as though everyone was in attendance when Charles finally made his entrance and stood before his subjects. He glanced around and straightened to his full height as he prepared to make his announcement.

“Count Odo has been executed by my order for disloyalty and high treason,” he said with an eerie sense of calm. “He deceived me even though I trusted and rewarded him...and for such deception and treason there can only ever be one punishment.”

It took all of Gisla’s self-control to keep her reaction to the news the Emperor had just shared neutral, to not turn to look at her husband. She did not want to let on to anyone that they were not privy to her father’s plan. How strange life is, Gisla repeated her father’s words to herself. She had never cared for Odo, had detested him, had even thought of the ways in which he might die in battle and yet his death came as a shock to her. All of her suspicions about his true nature had been confirmed. Somehow, in someway he had plotted against her father and Frankia. What was most troubling, however, was that she and Rollo had been completely ignorant that it was happening.

“Your grace will now be entrusted completely with the defense of our realm,” Charles continued. “This is the Iron Hand of Frankia. I give it to your grace as a symbol of my favor.”

Rollo stepped forward to accept the iron hand presented to him unaware of the distinct look of approval on Gisla’s face. To be entrusted with the defense of Paris was one thing, to be granted the trust of the Emperor with the protection of the entire realm of Frankia was another matter. All his life, Rollo sought the opportunity to prove himself and now it was being given to him. He did not bear the responsibility lightly, but as he rose and turned towards his wife he felt the weight of it on his shoulders. This was his home now. These were his people and they looked to him for shelter from the impending attack from the enemy.

“You saw Odo this morning, didn’t you?” Gisla asked when they were finally alone again.

“Yes, he joined me when I went down to inspect the boats with Roland,” Rollo replied.

“Did he seem troubled then?”

“He was late, which was unusual, but he did not seem to be troubled by anything. I thought you would be glad to be rid of him.”

“I’ve never hid the fact from you that I didn’t care for him, but there is something about all of this that is unsettling to me. Why didn’t my father inform us of any of this earlier?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t want to spoil your news with something so upsetting.”

“But he should have,” Gisla insisted, turning her back towards Rollo and motioning for him to help her with the fastenings on her dress. “He should have trusted us with this information.”

“He does trust us,” he assured her. “He trusts me enough to give me the iron hand. I cannot know the inner workings of his mind, but maybe he did it to protect you.”

“You’re being too reasonable about this.”

“Maybe you aren’t being reasonable enough. Count Odo is dead. We no longer have to worry about what he will or won’t do when the next battle comes. I think we should count this as a victory.”

“A victory for us or a victory for Frankia?”

“A victory for both.”


End file.
